


No Crib for a Bed

by czarina_kathryn



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Feelstide 2013, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Manger Scene, Robots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-04 16:13:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/czarina_kathryn/pseuds/czarina_kathryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint was busy freezing to death, shooting robots, and almost regretting that his uniform had no arms (but only almost). Until he found himself dealing with bigger problems at the local Manger Scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Crib for a Bed

**Author's Note:**

> For Feelstide prompt #21 - The team has to sub in for a manger scene for some reason. Bonus points if they're still in superhero garb.

It was a cold clear night, the stars shining brightly down on the little town of … well, Clint wasn’t exactly sure where they were, but it was somewhere in upstate New York. Clint was perched atop the local fire ladder truck, keeping an eye on the scene stretching out down the town’s small Main Street. Seeing as the ladder was taller than all of the surrounding buildings, Clint couldn’t imagine why the town had it in the first place, but it sure was coming in handy now. 

Presumably the truck had originally been placed to block traffic from entering Main Street during the annual Christmas festival, but now it was providing Clint with an excellently unimpeded view of the marauding robots (which may or may not be necromantic robots (not to be confused with zombie robots, because apparently people (*cough* Sitwell *cough*) get offended if you dared sully the good name of zombies with these clearly unworthy robots)). 

It was a shame really that whole robot thing had cropped up during the festival, since it seemed like it had been a really nice party - there were multiple hot chocolate stands, plenty of candy canes, and lots of Christmas lights. Clint had half a mind to come back and check the festival out next year (that is, if they decided to keep having the festival after the minor (ok, major) debacle that this year’s had turned into). 

Clint let out a slow breath and watched it hover crystalline in the air before him for a long moment, before nocking two arrows and skewering one of the robots to a conveniently located tree (and yes, the tree was covered in lights). 

“I’ve got one pinned down outside the book store,” Clint informed his earpiece. 

Moments later two hazmat wearing SHIELD agents appeared to cart the robot off into custody (probably for dissection and disintegration, because necromantic robots were not supposed to be a thing). 

“We have enough robot samples for study now,” Sitwell said, “You’re clear to take out the rest of them.”

Stark let out a rather undignified whoop from further down the street and head butted the nearest robot. 

Clint rolled his eyes and took down the three robots menacing the local Soda Fountain with quick arrows to their main circuit boards. 

With careful precision Natasha and Captain America were herding the robots unoccupied by the combined insanity that was Thor and Stark, into the General Store. So Clint took the opportunity to swing his bow over his shoulder and vigorously rub his fingers together. 

With the wind going, it really was cold up on the ladder (for crying out loud, Clint’s uniform didn’t even have arms (which was entirely his fault, but that wasn’t the point)). Clint bent his head and blew on his hands, trying to eke out a little warmth before getting his bow back out. 

Clint did a quick scan of the street behind the fire truck and a flicker of movement in the otherwise still night caught his eye. Panning back, Clint found that of all things there were cows, sheep, donkeys (and was that a camel?) standing quietly in pens next to a dilapidated tent. 

But it wasn’t an animal he’d seen move. No, the movement he’d spotted had come from a box on raised legs placed in the center of the otherwise empty tent. It looked like someone had filled it with hay, perhaps for the animals to eat? 

It clicked in his mind a moment later, memories from orphanage Christmas’ long past swimming into his brain - it was a manger scene. The cast of characters was missing (no baby Jesus or Mary and Joseph or shepherds or Wise Men), but the trough in the center of tent was meant to hold a child. Perhaps it even had before the not-zombie robot apocalypse (ok, it wasn’t an apocalypse, that was an exaggeration, but it definitely sounded cooler). 

Clint would definitely have to come check this out this festival next year; maybe he’d try and convince Nat and Coulson to come with him. It might be fun, like old times, before the craziness of the Avengers came to Strike Team Delta. 

Then he saw the movement again, the straw in the manger had shifted. Clint’s first thought was the wind must have shifted the light hay, but there was no wind to speak of. Focusing closely on the manger Clint saw the hay shift again and his heart stopped. 

“Oh, Jesus!” Clint gasped without thought, his words echoing loudly down the com-line. 

“Really, Barton,” Stark said, “Don’t you think that maybe, just maybe, Christmas isn’t the best time of year to go around taking the lord’s name in vain. After all, we wouldn’t want you to end up with coal in your stocking.”

Clint’s mind was a jumble, thoughts tripping over themselves far too quickly for him to process. So all he managed to say in response to Stark was, “No, no! Jesus!” 

Not his best moment, but Clint had other things on his mind, such as getting a good grip on the ice cold slide rail with his numb fingers. He slid down from his perch with near panic inducing speed, flying past the ladder rungs and executing a practiced roll onto the roof of the fire truck to absorb his excess momentum. He barely bothered to regain his footing before taking the jump to the ground. 

Once on road, Clint took off running toward the manger scene, ripping out his earpiece to better ignore Sitwell yelling at him to return to his assigned position.

Skidding to a halt in front of the tent, Clint raced inside and fell to his knees next to the roughly hewn homemade manger. Tentatively reaching a hand out, Clint brushed away the straw. 

And there it was, the source of the movement he’d seen – a baby. A small pink face turned toward Clint, the child’s nose grown red from the bitter cold and tears icing as they ran down his cheeks. 

Setting his bow down, Clint leaned over and carefully picked the child up into his arms, struggling to get all the cloths the baby was wrapped in to come with him. 

“It’s ok, sweetheart, it’s ok,” He crooned quietly to the baby as he carefully began rocking him back and forth, holding him close to the minimal heat his body could provide. With a calloused finger, Clint wiped the tears from the baby’s cheek. 

“That’s right, no need to cry, you’re safe now,” Clint assured him, cuddling him closer as the baby attempted to wiggle about in the copious linen cloths wrapped around him (Clint was guessing the cloths were supposed to be swaddling clothes, but that was based on his long ago viewing of the Charlie Brown Christmas Special and might not be entirely accurate). 

Clint worked a finger inside the swaddling clothes and found that the child was actually being kept remarkably warm by his wrappings, probably warmer than Clint was in his glorified bulletproof spandex. 

A footstep crunched on the gravel in front of the tent and Clint, caught off guard, started in surprise, reflexively hunching over and turning to put himself between the baby and the unknown threat. 

As luck would have it, when Clint looked up from his precious bundle, he found not a robot, but his favorite handler, Agent Phil Coulson. 

“I don’t know how many times I’ve told you to keep your com in if you decide to go off plan,” Coulson said, his voice conversational, but with a distinct edge (they had, after all, had that conversation well over a dozen times). 

But instead of launching into a lecture (like he usually did (even though he knew Clint didn’t really listen to those)), Coulson shrugged off the large winter coat he was wearing over his suit. 

“What are you doing?” Clint heard himself ask, as he instinctively began rocking the baby again. As far as Clint knew, Phil was only supposed to be observing this mission (since he’d barely been cleared for active field work a week ago), not chasing down assets who abandoned their posts.

Coulson just looked at him and walked around the manger to settle his coat over Clint’s shoulders. The dark fabric fell around Clint and over the child in his arms, the cloth warm from the heat of Coulson’s body. 

Clint felt a shudder wrack through him as his skin prickled at the sudden heat. Which is probably why he missed Coulson leaning down over him, but he didn’t miss Coulson pulling him closer and rubbing his hands up and down Clint’s arms under the coat, the friction generating heat like nothing Clint could have imagined (but that may have been because it was Coulson, and nothing ever seemed to work quite the way it should when Clint was around him). 

“It seems to me that we ought to be able to come to some sort of compromise about having sleeves on your costume if the temperature is going to be below zero,” Coulson said, his hands continuing to move, and Clint found himself leaning forward until his forehead was resting on Coulson’s warm warm chest. He could have stayed like that forever.

But then the baby babbled, causing Coulson to pause and pull back, peering down at the bundle Clint was clutching (but Coulson did leave his hands on Clint’ skin, and Clint was absolutely not enjoying that far more than he should (ok, yes he was)). 

“He’s a lucky little fellow,” Coulson said, “You’re probably the only one who could have spotted him; his parents will no doubt be extremely grateful.”

“Well, you’re helping too, sir,” Clint said, not blushing at all (at all, really). 

Coulson grinned and Clint felt his heart stop, that kind of smile was not normal Coulson behavior – it was Phil behavior (and Clint was so rarely granted glimpses of the man behind Coulson’s work façade that each one was made infinitely precious). 

Clint was contemplating doing something very foolish (like putting his head back on Coulson’s chest and never moving again), when Thor appeared in front of the tent. 

Nothing too unusual about that, except that he had a very fluffy sheep slung over his shoulders. 

“Greetings, Eye of Hawk and Son of Coul!” Thor boomed. “I found this creature wandering next to the Moneylender’s abode and the Lady Natasha said to return it here.” 

“Put it in the corral with the other sheep,” Coulson said, removing a hand from Clint’s arm to gesture at the pen to their left. Amazingly, Coulson then put his hand back on top of Clint’s own, further securing the child in Clint’s arms. 

Instead of going back toward the battle, Thor remained standing by the pen after he deposited his sheepy friend inside. 

Clint didn’t realize that the robots must have all been defeated until Stark showed up a minute later, carrying a torn off robot arm like a trophy.

Flipping his faceplate up, Stark grinned at Clint and tossed the arm down on the ground in front of the manger. “Since you missed our triumphant defeat of the zombie robots, I brought you a souvenir.” 

“Gee, thanks, Stark, I always wanted my own necromantic robot arm.” Clint was about to follow this up with a snide remark about Stark’s ill-thought out gift giving tendencies, but his thoughts were permanently derailed, as the hand Coulson had left on his arm slid off. But Coulson didn’t move away. No, he moved closer, sliding his hand further under the coat, tucking Clint into his side, and settling them firmly together.

Yeah, that made Clint pretty speechless.

Then the Captain showed up with Bruce trailing behind him. Bruce was dragging a first aid kit, which he brought over to Clint and Coulson. Peering at the child, Bruce smiled. 

“Looks like baby Jesus doesn’t need me after all. He’s as snug as a bug.” Bruce didn’t seem at all put out by that, he only set down the first aid kit and went over to look at the robot arm with Stark. 

The Captain was smiling, which always made Clint feel like doing something inappropriately patriotic. 

“Keep up the good work, Hawkeye,” Cap said, leaning over to make a face at the baby, who giggled obligingly in response. 

“Oh,” the Captain said, straightening up and patting at his uniform, “Where did I put … here it is!”

Cap held out a candy cane to Clint. “You said you wanted one earlier, so I bought one from the nice girl scouts we pulled out of the travel agency.”

Clint almost didn’t believe that the candy cane was real, people so rarely gave him things … much less something he’d barely mentioned in passing.

“Thank you, Steve,” Coulson said, reaching out to accept it for Clint (since his arms were a little full). Coulson tucked the candy cane into the breast pocket of Clint’s uniform, his fingers patting it a couple of times before pulling away to resettle on Clint’s hand. 

“Well, it looks like almost everyone is here,” Coulson said, “We should pack it up.” 

“Where did the creepy spider lady get to?” Stark asked (which was always a dumb question (seriously, Clint could attest from personal experience, nothing good ever came from asking it)). 

And sure enough, Natasha chose that moment to swing her head over the top of the tent and throw a clump of tinsel at Stark’s exposed face. Clint couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him (come on, it was pretty funny, Stark’s face!). Coulson’s hand clutched at his hip and Clint realized with a thrill that Coulson had also thought it was funny and was sharing his amusement with Clint.

Sitwell finally made his appearance in front of the tent, looking cross (probably because no one had returned to the rally point, like they were supposed to). He just glared at them, clutching his phone and looking cold in his parka. 

Then he lifted his phone up and a flash momentarily blinded them. 

“I just want you to know that I’m sending the picture of this cute little nativity scene to Fury,” Sitwell said, turning on his heel and marching back off toward the transports.

“He isn’t really sending that to Fury, is he?” Bruce asked, and Clint forced himself to suppress a huff of amusement. Bruce was going to be in for a surprise if he thought Sitwell was bluffing. In fact, knowing Sitwell, the picture was already in Fury’s hands. 

Sure enough, a second later Clint could feel Coulson’s phone vibrating in his pocket. 

Coulson fished out the phone and glanced at the screen, “It’s from Fury.” 

Reading the message, the corner of Coulson’s mouth twitched, and Clint did not find that adorable (fine, ok, he was lying – it was sickeningly adorable).

“Apparently we’re going to be on this year’s SHIELD Holiday Greetings Card,” Coulson said, looking up at Bruce. “I suppose congratulations are in order, since this is the first time in years that anyone’s beat out the picture of Director Fury in a sexy Santa outfit to represent the agency.”

Stark paused in removing the straggling tinsel pieces adhering to his suit to look horrified.

“Let’s get going, Avengers,” Coulson said, “We’ve got to find this child’s parents and then we can head home.” 

Snow began to fall gently as the Avenger’s walked toward the rally point, but Coulson stopped Clint next to the giant Christmas tree, with a firm hand on his waist. 

“Sir?” Clint asked.

An emotion flickered across Coulson’s face too quickly to be identified, “Since we’re currently playing Mary and Joseph to baby Jesus, I think you can call me Phil.”

Clint’s heart stuttered in his chest.

Phil looked down at the child in their arms, “Clint, you’re the best man I know, and I am always awed by your capacity for caring for others.” 

Clint let out a breathy laugh, “Don’t be ridiculous; you’re a far better man than me.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree,” Phil said, uncharacteristic warmth bleeding into his voice; his eyes still fixed on the child.

Clint shrugged, “If you say so, sir.” 

The pause in conversation became awkward as Clint realized he’d failed to call Coulson by his first name. As the silence stretched out Clint did the only thing he could think of to lighten the mood; he blurted out, “Phil.” 

Phil’s eyes darted up and met Clint’s, dark with an emotion Clint was scared to name (but looked an awful lot like love). 

Then Phil’s hand was on Clint’s neck and they were kissing. 

Unfortunately it was too cold to linger, they had parents to find, and only a single coat between them. 

But the grateful crying parents were quickly located and the child returned. And in no time, Clint and Phil were walking up the ramp into the Quinjet to find Natasha looking gleeful.

“What did you do?” Clint asked, settling onto the bench next to her, trying not to feel too hopeful about the fact that Phil had sat down snug on his other side.

“Fury says he’s changed his mind about the photo.”

“That’s too bad,” Phil said dryly, “I was rather looking forward to seeing less of Nick’s legs this Christmas.”

“He likes my photo better than Sitwell’s,” Nat said, a thread of pride in her voice. She tilted her phone to show Clint the screen. It was a picture of him and Phil, kissing in the softly falling snow, a baby cradled in their arms. 

Clint swallowed hard, trying to get a grip on his emotions.

Phil leaned over Clint to look at the picture and smirked, “I agree with Fury.”

Clint coughed to clear his throat and allowed himself to settle closer to Phil as the jet took off and Stark began an off-key rendition of “I’ll be home for Christmas.”

Under the hum of the engine’s Phil put his lips to Clint’s ear and whispered, “I’m putting that photo in my office.” 

And Clint felt a happiness he’d never even known to hope for settle into his veins. 

“I don’t have an office, but I can hang it on the range,” Clint whispered back. 

Phil stroked his thumb down Clint’s cheek and said, “Deal,” before pulling him into a gorgeously warm kiss.

Deal indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Mary - Clint Barton  
> Joseph - Phil Coulson  
> Shepherd - Thor  
> Wise Men - Tony, Bruce, Steve  
> Angel - Natasha


End file.
